PS 3501 
.T5 C5 
1908 
Copy 1 



111 





Class _IpS-3^n) 
Book. -T^^ C. 6r 



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-10 iS 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



Ly/iLps and W/ietstones 

c^eo. W. ^^tkinson 



PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR 



1908 



Tribune Printing Co. 
Charleston, W. Va. 



T6 3ral 

Trcr 



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11 



Chips and Whetstones. 



LiBRASY of CONGRESS 

Two GoDies Received 

MAK 16 1809 

Ccpyri£-nt Entry 

CLASS CU- •^'^'=' ^°' 
COf*Y ^ ' 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the office of 
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C, by George 
W. Atkinson, in the year of our Lord, 1908. 



Chips and Whetstones. iil 



To ay beloved Wife* 

ALMIKA LOUISE ATiONSON* 

Tliitf volume flo afliectloiiately dedicated. 



iv Chips and Whetstones. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Our Records 1 

In the Darkness of Nnght 3 

Love's Forget-me-not 4 

Bill Morris — ^Who was a Soldier 5 

Maid of the Cumberland 

The Level and The Square 28 

*'Daddy Mack" and His Pipe 30 

A Broken Cadence 34 

Scooped Them 35 

A Flower of the Southland 36 

Thanksgiving 37 

When Jack Spencer Died 38 

A Parody on Love 41 

The Life Story of a Slave 42 

Love's For-get-me-not 49 

Days That are Gone Forever 50 

The Infinitude of Love 54 

Pass It On 55 

It Rained and It Rained 57 

Baby Nance 62 

The Lady I Met in the Park 64 



Chips and Whetstones. 



The Bell in State Street Church Tower 65 

•The Ladies" 67 

Delta Tau Delta — A College Fraternity 71 

The Year of 1902 80 

Zelia: A Legend of the Homestead Strike. ... 81 

A Summer Song Amid the Hills 110 

August in Virginia 112 

Hope 116 

My Creed . . , 117 

Brains 119 



vi Chips and Whetstones. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Author of "Chips and Whetstones" at 

thirty years of age ^' 

The Still House of Bleylock and Oscar 13 ^ 

The Home of the Bleylocks 15/ 

Dick Oscar and His Faithful Steed 17 > 

The Peddler 18 

Captain "Jim" Davis, Chief of the Revenue 

Officials 22 

The Arrest of Bleylock and Oscar 24 / 

The Grist Mill Ill . 

The Author of "Chips and Whetstones" at sixty ^ 

years of age 117 



Chips and Whetstones. vii 



PREFACE. 



This volume I have entitled correctly, I 
think, Chips and Whetstones. I began 
many years ago, at odd times only, to ex- 
press some of my thoughts in verse, according 
to the established rules of poetic expression, 
and thus far I have never printed any of my 
productions in this line of literary efflort. 
Recently I have carefully gone over quite a 
lot of my manuscripts, and believing them to 
be unworthy of publication, I consigned them 
to the flames. Doubtless many of my severe 
critics will say, all of them should have been 
disposed of in the same manner. Be this as 
it may, some of them I did not destroy, and 
I have printed them in book form herein. 
Whether any of them is meritorious, I leave 
the reader to decide. I am quite sure, how- 
ever, no one wiU be harmed by reading the 
few productions I have published, out of the 



viii Chips and Whetstones. 

many I have written, covering a period of 
more than forty years. The few that I have 
printed are offered only for what they are 
worth, and no apology is extended for their 
publication. I may say modestly, however, 
I have but little fear of competent criticism; 
and as lawyers say, I will endeavor to ''jus- 
tify/^ when the axe falls in the hands of those 
who know how to wield it. 

To my old friend, the Reverend Henry J. 
Boatman^ of California, — a man of large and 
varied literary attainments — I am greatly in- 
debted for many valuable and helpful sug- 
gestions in the preparation of these pages. 

G. W. A. 

Charleston, West Va., September, 1908, 



OUR RECORDS. 



As melts the snow beneath the sun. 
So vanish words when spoken; 

We soon forget the deeds we've done, 
The promises we've broken. 

We seem to feel all wrong acts die 
As soon as they're forgotten; 

Ah! vain the thought — it is a lie. 
And of the wish begotten. 

For, silent as the snowflakes fall, 

A record we are Writing 
Of all our acts, the great, the small. 

And every fault indicting. 

Unlike the snow that melts away. 
Those lines with all their shading 

Are written once and yet for aye — 
That recor(^ is unfading. 

God pity all who fearless are 

Of records not inviting, 
Which in His Book so white and fair. 

The many now are writing. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



A record not for time alone, 
That all mankind are framing. 

In sun or shade, should every one, 
For nobler deeds be aiming. 

As clean as snow, as dear as gold. 
Thine actions all recorded; 

The Judge will come, the scroll unfold, 
And thou wilt be rewarded: — 

A passport true to endless rest, 
In heaven's own light and glory, 

We'll read it there among the blest, 
And oft repeat the story. 

So write: and no false entry make; 

Nor blot nor blur shall never 
A joy from thee or others take. 

For ever and for ever. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



IN THE DARKNESS OF NIGHT. 



Like a gem that bedecks the cerulean dome 

Is the "Night-blooming Ceres" when it breaks from 

its home 
In the womb of the bud for a place that is fair, 
And breathes forth its sweets on the calm evening 

air; 
As it opes wide its petals thus born in the night, 
To prepare them to meet with the sun's scorching 

light: 
So are earth's rarest jewels like flowers that bloom 
In the dakness of night all shrouded in gloom; 
The tones of the harp to our ears sound the best 
When Nature is sleeping and the world is at rest. 
But sweeter than flowers is the River of Life, 
Which drowns every sorrow and quells every 

strife; 
For it flows from the land of the blest and the 

pure. 
And it fixes the heart on the things that endure. 
Thus our lives are made sweeter, more joyous and 

bright 
By the thoughts which are born in the blackness 

of night. 
May the flowers bloom on, and the music ne'er 

cease, 
As we journey through life with the Master's 

sweet peace. 



Chips A^n Whetstones, 



LOVE S *' FORGET-ME-NOT." 



What is Love? I know not; 
Yet to the heart it clings, 
Plowing as unfailing springs, 
And to the weary brings, 

If 'tis our lot. 

What is Love? They alone can tell 
Whose hearts it once has taken 
By impulses which awaken 
And the higher nature shaken 

By pulsations divine, of which none can tell. 

But what is Love? Don't be deceived. 

By things which come our way, 

We are often led astray, 

And we miss the narrow way, 
Oh! how often we are grieved. 

What is Love? It's the Seraphs lot 
To tell. For it's divine — eternal, 
Which makes the world fraternal 
With peace and joy supernal: 

It ever lives — dear friend forget-me-not. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



BILL MORRIS'' — WHO WAS A 
SOLDIER. 



Bill Morris was a man of friendly mien impos- 
ing, 
But in morals weak, and lacking that sterner 
sort of stuff 
Which heavy weighs with some, but with otherai 
mere disposing. 
Because Morris at his best, was an ashler in 
the rough. 

Like "Ben Battle," Bill was dubbed a soldier 
brave and bold. 
Though mostly by himself, and not by those 
with whom he mustered 
On field, in trench, in South and West, 'mid rain 
and heat and cold; 
But when war's tocsins ended, around him hon- 
ors clustered. 

Bill was generous and kind, and likewise very 
clever, 
And death would rather choose, than a wrong- 
ful deed to do; 
But so weak was he in moralsyit was said, he never 
Could discriminate misleading statements from 
the true. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



It was in the early Sixties, when the clouds of war 
were lowering. 
And the Country of our Fathers was struggling 
for its life. 
That Morris went with musket, and a "dog-tent" 
for his covering, 
That his country might be saved from the throes 
of civil strife. 



In that long and drawn-out conflict, Bill plumed 
himself a patriot, 
For to hear him tell his exploits, he rarely had 
a match 
On field 'mid rain of bullets; by skill and native 
shrewdness. 
He from death and danger 'merged, without a 
single scratch. 

But in truth, Bill was a blow-hard and a silver- 
tongued braggart. 
Yet nothing he intended, except his many 
friends to cheer: 

Still, his comrades stoutly claimed that he chose 
to be a laggard, 

For when cannons roared the loudest Bill's place 
was at the rear. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



When the Civil War was over. Bill with others 
homeward marched, 
And was limp and lame and spavined, yet was 
happy and possessed; 
Though like other loyal comrades, he was leaa 
and lank and parched, 
But at every public gathering, he was honored 
and caressed. 

At thirty-nine Bill's life closed out; 'twas dark 
and drear and sad; 
We stood by him as comrades should, while the 
shadows gathered fast; 
'Twas his last and greatest battle, and to surren- 
der he was glad. 
So he closed his eyes and cheerfully across the 
river passed. 

In the grave with Bill we buried, good deeds and 
bad alike. 
And on the stone which marks the spot, these 
words were plainly writ: 
"Bill Morris was a patriot, who used his mouth to 
strike 
Disloyalty and treason, and the *bulls-eye' al- 
ways hit." 



Chips and Whetstones. 



"On the other side of Jordan,'* where Bill walks 
and stalks about. 
He'll gather round a mighty throng of "Yanlis" 
and "Rebs" as one. 
And down the corridors of time, the word keep 
sending out, 
Of the battles for the Union that he himself 
had won. 

Peace to his silent ashes and rest to his braggart 
soul. 
As from his boastful jargon, free he sleeps be- 
neath the sod; 
May each surviving comrade write his record on 
on a scroll. 
In deeds that talk of valor for his country and 
his God. 




The Author at Thirty Years of Age. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



MAID OF THE CUMBERLAND: OR, THE 

SAD FATE OF THE MOONSHINER'S 

DAUGHTER— A LEGEND OF THE 

CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 



The Plot. 

In Putnam County, Tennessee, in the Cumber- 
land Mountains, a family lived by the name of 
Bleylock. There were two daughters in the house- 
hold — Jane and Eliza. "Dick" Oscar, a young man 
who had but little fear of anything, lived with 
the Bleylocks, and operated an illicit distillery, 
which, in mountain parlance, is called "moonshin- 
ing;" that is, making whisky by moonlight. Os- 
car fell deeply in love with Jane Bleylock, and 
she reciprocated in the same degree. Capt. "Jim'* 
Davis, the chief of the Government officers in 
Tennessee, could never locate the Oscar distillery, 
consequently he sent a young man into that neigh- 
borhood, equipped as a peddler, with instructions 
to remain until he definitely located the distillery. 
The peddler stopped several weeks at the Bleylock 
home, courting Eliza, the younger of the sisters, 
and endeavoring to secure from her the where- 
abouts of the distillery. In this he totally failed. 
Meantime Jane Bleylock, from conversations over- 



10 Chips and Whetstones. 

heard between the peddler and Eliza, was satisfied 
that the peddler was a spy; and as she had grown 
jealous of "Dick" Oscar, because he was paying 
too close attention to a neighboring girl by the 
name of Pond, she volunteered her services and 
conducted the peddler to the distillery operated 
by "Dick" Oscar, her two brothers, and her father. 
The peddler promptly returned to Nashville, and 
in a few days conducted a raiding party to the dis- 
tillery, who destroyed it, arrested the parties who 
operated it, and conveyed them before the United 
States court at Nashville. They were tried before 
Judge Key and were sentenced to an imprisonment 
of six months each at hard labor in the Nashville 
penitentiary. 

Jane Bleylock accompanied them to Nashville, 
and remained in the city as a domestic girl during 
their six months* imprisonm#nt^ and when they 
were released she returned with them to Putnam 
County. On returning, the family charged upon 
Eliza the crime of pointing out the location of the 
distillery. She declared her innocence, but they 
refused to believe her statements. She was driven 
from' her home, and in a short time absolutely 
died of a broken heart. The story is in all re- 
spects true, as I know of my own personal knowl- 
edge. 



Chips aisd Whetstones. 11 

• L 

On classic Cumberland's alpine crests 
Where golden eagles make their nests; 
Where lofty cliff and rocky glen, 
And gurgling rivulets descend; 
Where towering pine and massive oak 
Have reared their heads since Nature spoke. 
And bade mankind behold and draw- 
True wisdom from her righteous law; 
Where myriad flowers bright and sweet, 
That bloom and die beneath their feet; 
Where birds of varied plumage dwell, 
From morn till night their music swell 
On tree and rock and air and vale, 
Till out of sight in ether sail; 
Where clouds that float and rills that foam. 
And stars that shine in purple dome. 
There dwelt, in times gone by, a lass 
That calmest judgment makes me class 
A heroine of charming mold. 
With virtues many yet untold. 
Who pined and died in mountains wild 
Because her sire disowned his child. 



As stars shine brightest in the night. 
And shed their radiance all around, 

So darkness yields to sweetest light. 
And joy from grief is often found. 



12 Chips and Whetstones. 

II. 
One's great desire is comfort, ease. 
To be at rest, and yet to please 
Himself and those with whom he moves, 
However much the right he loves. 
Through ages past, but one desire 
Inspires a class to rise no higher 
Than scorn the law and thwart its sway, 
To lift men up from error's way. 
On railroad trains to steal a ride 
Is many's aim and greatest pride; 
Thus lawlessness has ever been 
A leading trait through ages seen. 
Since fruit forbidden in Paradise 
AVas eaten at the sacrifice 
Of death to those that by it lost 
Their hope of gain at fearful cost. 
So down the ages drifts the thought. 
That fools and rascals ever sought, 
To reach a goal and leave behind 
The faithful toil which others find 
In upright life and earnest work, 
To climb the hill which none should shirk. 



Ambition all should cultivate. 
But curb it with a rightful aim. 

Teach one another love of State, 
At sacrifice of private gain. 



Chips and Whetstones. 13 

III. 
In years agone there thrived a class^ 
In mpuntains wild and gorges fast, 
Who, like the hunters, took their stand 
High up majestic Cumberland. 
Their two-fold aim was, first, to make 
Prom corn and rye, their thirst to slake, 
The liquid fire, both white and pure, 
Which only such men could endure. 
Their second aim was to evade 
The tax that ''Uncle Sam" had laid 
On whisky, wine and lager beer 
That men will drink from year to year. 
Thus, month on month, they ran their stills 
In deep ravines hard by their mills; 
And officers with guide and gun, 
Proml whom the mountaineers would run 
Like deer when frightened in the chase — 
None but a horse could keep apace. 
To find the whereabouts of stills. 
Concealed in cliffs along the hills. 
The marshals oft would hunt in vain 
Through storm and sleet and snow and rain. 



Like bloodhounds through the woods they went 
And couched about till evening gray; 

In night's deep darkness, hours they spent. 
Yet rarely missed the rightful way. 



14 Chips and Whetstones. 

IV. 
To find these stills, as I have said. 
Took patience, perseverance, dread. 
And skill and craft and constant toil, 
Because the object was to foil 
Them in their work of lawlessness 
Whose only fruit is pain, distress. 
But this they never would admit. 
And bravely fought with nerve and grit, 
Till "Uncle Sam" with gun and shot 
For moonshine 'stillers made it hot; 
So hot, that they were glad to quit 
And honor law, and thus admit 
It never pays to violate 
The laws of either Church or State. 
"Jim" Davis, who was noble, brave, 
The "powers that be" commission gave 
To teach these men respect for law. 
Or 'round their necks a halter draw, 
•'Took up the cudgel" with a will, 
And traveled over vale and hill, 
From Nashville 'long the Cumberland — 
To where the Georgian mountains stand. 



'Tis ever brave to do the right, 
Yet always mean to falter when ^ 

The order comes for one to fight; 
This surest test shows who are men. 



O 
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Chips and Whetstones. 15 

V. 

'Mid Putnam County's rugged hills 

A family dwelt with iron wills, 

With muscles tough and hard as flint. 

As God endowed them; without stint; 

Amibitious not for crown or gold, 

Or things which perish, tarnish, mold, 

But dowered with a love of truth. 

And virtue, patience from their youth. 

To die was naught, unless it cost 

A sacrifice which none had lost. 

Of manhood and the right to be 

What God had made them — always free. 

» 
These Bleylocks lived in modest way. 

And paid their debts, their neighbors say; 

They dressed becoming mountain life. 

And tilled the soil — kept out of strife. 

The only record of a crime 

Which could be charged at any time. 

To cast dishonor on their fame. 

Was making "moonshine" — that's the name 

To lawless 'stilling people gave — 

A trick of rogues the tax to save. 



But to their credit, be it said. 

They did not lead the lawless throng; 
But by "Dick" Oscar they were led 
• To reap the whirlwind of their wrong. 



16 Chips and Whetstones. 

VI. 
"Dick" Oscar loved a Bleylock maid, 
A princess charming Nature made 
As any since the silence broke 
In Eden, when the Serpent spoke. 
And led men down the steep of sin, 
When pain and death were ushered in. 
Now, "Dick" was of Apollo formj. 
An athlete who with chest and arm 
Of massive strength, and head erect. 
And yet whose life was circumspect. 
Except one thing — a wicked will 
To operate a "moonshine" still. 
As Saul among the Prophets old 
Stood Oscar, young and brave and bold; 
Jane Bleylock loved this moonshine king 
With all the passion love could bring; 
Her heart was jealous to the core. 
And this inflamed it more and more; 
Poor "Dick" could never cast a glance 
Upon a lass that circumstance 
Drew in his way, without exciting 
His "Janey" to the pitch of fighting. 



Just here a moral may be given 
To those that love but iove not well: 

Poor, jealous hearts are often riven 
By pangs of grief too keen to tell. 



o 

> 
> 



m 




Chips and Whetstones. 17 

VII. 
About this time there came along 
A charming peddler, young and strong. 
Who carried, strapped upon his back. 
Dry goods and notions in a pack. 
One day he reached the Bleylock home, 
And finding 'Liza all alone. 
He laid his pack beside the gate, 
Unstrapped and then began to state 
His price of things, but not to sell 
A single article, yard or ell; 
His mission was to "spot" the still 
Wliich Oscar ran beyond the hill. 
With all his goods the girl was charmed, 
No thought of ill her heart alarmed; 
She pressed himi to remain awhile 
Till for her mother, full a mile. 
She went in haste into the woods, 
To plead with her to buy the goods. 
The matron came — the peddler smiled. 
Upon the floor his notions piled; 
Then asked to stay a week or more. 
For he was weary and foot-sore. 



The unsuspecting often are 
Into a snare securely led. 

So far that patience will not spare 
Detectives from a holy dread. 



18 Chips axd Whetstones. 

. VIII. 
The peddler 'gan at once to smile 
Upon Eliza all the while; 
His only hope was in that line, 
To read her mind, her thoughts -divine. 
And round her heart his net to weave 
Of love's deceitful make-believe 
He w^orshiped her, and hoped to be 
Her husband, if she could but see 
In him the virtues to possess 
To charm the home, prevent -distress. 
And guard the precincts God directed 
By marriage vows should be protected. 
The wily peddler she adored 
And on his heart her pure love poured, 
They spent their time in love-match miaking. 
While he his notes of "stills" was taking; 
Yet never could extort from her 
Who ran the "stills" or where they were. 
Suspicious were these mountaineers. 
And in their minds dwelt constant fears. 
Lest "moonshiners'* should be molested. 
Or by the "Revenues"* arrested. 



How easy 'tis do the- right, 

If sense and reason one consults; 

Yet men will toil with main and might, 
And never pause to weigh results. 
♦A name given to all United States officers. 




Tke Peddler. 



Chips and Whetstones. 19 

IX. 

These lovers once, beside a spring, 
Sat listening to the blue-birds sing. 
That thronged the boughs of all the trees. 
And filled the air with melodies; 
Jane Bleylock chanced to pass along, 
Gently chanting a May-day song. 

^Twas spring, and sweet the ivy bower 

Around them clung with flavored flower; 

Eliza taught the Idaean vine. 

About the elms to am'rous twine. 

And all the hardy plants to bear 

The searching keenness of the air. 

The morning's dawn reflected hue 

Had filled the sky with azure blue. 

As mild and soft the clouds were tossed 

Across the firmament, and lost 

In chaos, as the western breeze 

Touched hill and vale and stirred the trees; 

High over all they swept along 

Like sea-girt waves both high and strong, 

"Whose deepening shadows on their breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest." 



Eliza Bleylock never feared 

Her sister Jane could e'er betray, 

Nor to her miind had aught appeared 
Of pain that in her pathway lay. 



20 Chips and Whetstones. 

X. 

The peddler never ceased to press 
His love for 'Liza, and caress 
As gently as the morning dew, 
To procure the secret which she knew 
Of Oscar's "still" among the rocks. 
Which he, as cunning as a fox, 
Had slyly worked for many years. 
Despite his mother's prayers and tears. 
He plead in earnest, but in vain, 
From her this secret to obtain. 

The peddler cried with "ghoulish glee": 
"Eliza, 'dear, our lives must be 
Entwined as ivy 'round the oak. 
So none can sever, none revoke 
What we may do and may decide, 
Though hills and valleys, far and wide, 
May sadly part us from the rest 
That you love well, but should detest. 
Let this warm hand lead thee afar 
From scenes like these of constant war. 
And seat thee in a charming bower. 
And guard thee as a tender flower." 



Died on the air the closing song 
Of lark that in the meadow lay ; 

Eliza felt emotions strong 
Within her heart that summer day. 



Chips and Whetstones. 21 

XI. 

Jane Bleylock all this cooing heard, 

Yet uttered not a single word. 

Poor thoughtless Jane! her jealous heart 

Led her the secret to impart. 

Which tact induced her to believe 

The peddler gladly would receive. 

^ ^ ^ SlC ^ ^ ^ ^ 

So to the place they hastened on 

Along deep vales and hills upon; 

"It was a wild and strange retreat 

As e'er were trod by outlaws' feet." 

The hills, rock-ribbed, were broken through 

By earthquake shocks, when Nature drew 

A veil of darkness o'ei^ the land. 

By His eternal, mighty hand. 

^ ^ •}• «{c ^ *i* ^* ^ 

She led hinx to the secret spot 
Where Nature formed a sylvian grot, 
Which God intended to conceal 
The deeds of sin, that to reveal 
Would shock the world and make men say, 
" 'Tis wise to shun the evil way." 
'Twas here "Dick" Oscar rani his still. 
Beneath a cliff far up the hill. 



There Oscar sat as sun declined. 
And watched his cauldron boiling fast. 

This pleasing thought upon his mind: 
That, after all, "'twill pay" at last. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



XII. 
With nimble foot Jane homeward flew, 
Beneath the stars in azure blue. 
The peddler vanished, not a word ' 

Was uttered, nor could he afford 
To tarry there, and seek to find. 
However much he was inclined, 
More facts to further prove his case, 
Hence homeward left with rapid pace. 

***3|:4: * * « 

No sound except the murmuring rill 
Disturbed his thoughts or moved his will, 
Unless the screech-owl's hideous screams. 
Which, wafted on the moon-tide beams. 
Came though the trees his nerves to shake. 
And made him' wish his peace to make 
With Oscar and his wily crew. 
Who fear nor danger ever knew. 
To Nashville thence at once he drove, 
As rapidly as steed could miove; 
There told of great success achieved 
Among the, people he deceived. 
And all his plan, but, O, the cost 
Of honor sullied, goodness lost! 



O, heartless peddler, had you died, 
'Twas but your luck and chance, 

As darkling was the act you tried, 
Yet fortune spared the lance. 




Captain **Jim" Davis. 



Chips and Whetstones. 23 

XIII. 
"Jim" Davis now the peddler took 
As guide o'er hill and vale and nook, 
To lead him to the rocky glen 
Where Oscar and his lawless men 
For years had run their moonshine still 
In canyon deep hard by a mill. 
Which Davis long had sought to get 
And catch "Dick" Oscar in his net. 
On, on they rode at rapid gait 
To vindicate the laws of State; 
Above were peaks which Nature hung, 
And crags and cliffs that Pluto flung. 
All covered with a midnight pall. 
Which trembled as if sure to fall. 
Far up the Cumberland they sped — 
When near the place, the peddler led; 
No warning waked the solemn still, 
Nor sound was heard but of a rill 
That through the canyon wound along 
With quiet mien, yet solemn song. 
Where Oscar and the Bleylock fair. 
Sought for a time their safety there. 



Was it the solemn thunder's sound 
That shook the cabin in the vale? 

No. 'Twas the order to "surround"* 
Which made these men turn pale. 



*'*Surround" is a word used by revenue officers when 
they attempt to make an arrest. 



24 Chips and Whetstones. 

XIV. 
Jane Bleylock, who had played the "spy," 
Though ne'er could give the reason why, 
Through jealousy had often swore 
She'd never love "Dick" Oscar more, 
"But she who stems a stream with sand, 
And fetters flame with flaxen band, 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 

By firm resolve to conquer love." 

**** **** 

"Dick" Oscar and the Bleylocks saw 

The rigid terrors of the law. 

As Justice Key,t with solemn tone, 

Passed sentence on them; one by one: 

"Six months in prison thou shalt stay, 

And toil from morn 'till close of day." 
**** **** 

At Nashville, Jane, with^ courage bold, 

In trembling voice her story told 

To court and jury, yet in vain 

Could she for them a respite gain. 

For months she lingered near the place, 

With patience, perseverence, grace. 

And fondly strained her anxious ear 

The accents of "Dick's" voice to hear. 



No more do mountain breezes bring 
Those notes adown the rugged dell. 

As, homeward-bound, "Dick" used to sing 
The songs his "Janey" knew so well. 
fThe name of the United States Judge at Nashvilee. 



o 

o 



S 

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b 




Chips and Whetstones. 25 

XV. 

The convicts served their sentence out, 
And for their home they turned about; 
One evening as tlie shadows long 
Fell on the party full and strong. 
They paused in a sequestered dell. 
For "Dick" a secret now must tell; 
It was that he and Jane would wed. 
As, from the first, they both had said, 
When homie and friends they reached again, 
Though prison thoughts might give them pain, 
Yet this should never interfere^ 
Or cool their love to each so dear. 

When home the prison party came, 

EJliza met them in the lane; 

The sire refused to kiss his child, 

A brother cried in accents wild: 

"Disown the wretch, a traitor proved," 

(And from the group his sister shoved), 

"She told the peddler of the still, 

liove her again, I never will." 

In vain she pleaded innocence, * 

But none would come to her defence. 



With all, for the right to suffer is gain, 

And treasures above store away; 
But earth with its sorrows can't measure the pain, 

Nor the horrors of heart-aches allay. 



26 Chips and Whetstonks. 



XVI. 

**Some feelings are to mortals given, 

With less of earth in them than heaven;" 

But here we have an antipode, 

A hell she reaps who truth had sowed; 

Her simple ways and tender years, 

Her guileless life, her flowing tears. 

No pity found nor love provoked; 

The sentence passed stood unrevoked. 

And not a tear that father shed 

Upon his duteous daughter's head. 

With drooping heart the outcast went 
Prom friends and home where she had spent 
A life of twenty years of joy, 
Untainted by the world's alloy 
Of sin and treachery and pain. 
The dreadful cost of wicked gain. 

She lingered thus in dreary state. 
And pined away at rapid rate. 
Lamenting sadly, all the while, 
That she should be by creatures vile 
Accused of treason, vilest wrong; 
Though innocent, she bore it long, 
And nobly well endured this test, — 
If God but chastened, it was best. 



Though wild the tempest, dark the night, 

Yet soon will day be dawning; 
Though great our sorrows, yet there's light. 
Then hail we joys of morning! 



Chips and Whetstones. 27 

XVII. 
One day a wedding feast was spread, 
Yet one was there whose heart was sad; 
'Twas Jane, the bride, whom Oscar won, 
For she had all the mischief done. 
That drove her sister from her hom<e 
A hated outcast, sad, alone. 
To grieve and pine and faint and die. 
Beneath the trees in pain to lie. 
"Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
With thronging scene of figures bright;" _ 

The dance went on, the crowd was gay, 
While on the hill Eliza lay, 
For death had come and claimed his own. 
Beneath an oak, without a moan, 
Her life went out, and sweetly there 
She breathed her last calm evening payer. 

*««4: Ha Ha * %i 

y 

They buried Eliza — 'tis all like a dream — 
On a beautiful slope, near a calm, cryslat stream, 
Whose meandering tide, in its course to the sea. 
Will tell of her wrongs as I tell them to thee. 
Till the Father of all summon^ men to His seat 
To punish for crimes that none shall repeat. 



In broken accents, soft and tender. 
They speak her name in saddened home. 

While fairest flowers their tribute render. 
To deck her grare when spring hath come. 



4k 

28 Chips and Whetstones. 



THE LEVEL AND THE SQUARE. 



The level's a jewel when it levels men up, 

But not, if it levels them down; 
And the Mason who levels his life by its gauge. 

Will be laureled at last with a crown. 

But woe to the man who passes through life. 

On a level by criminals trod; 
'Twere better by far he had never been born. 

Or in youth he'd been laid 'neath the sod. 

Our symbol — the Level — teaches plainly this 
truth : 

Men are equal when all do the right; 
It exacts from us all, from old age down to youth, 

A pledge to be just day and night. 

On the level of truth we should walk right and 
true, 

Down the sweep of the years as they fly; 
Looking up, and not down, as Masons should do, 

To the mansions of rest in the sky. 

On the level, at last, all Masons must m^et, 
And surrender their trusts to the King; 

Though weary in limb and sore be their feet. 
To their ancient Grand Craft they must cling. 



Chips and Whetstones. 2d 



And that other symbol — the Right-angled Square — 
Comes teaching its lessons in love; 

By its angle men's lives are tested as true. 
In this world, and the home that's above. 

One's a man only, when square in his acts, 
And is clean on the inside and out; 

In the quiet of home he'll be honored alike. 
Or on tempest-tossed sea cast about. 

As shoot the bright stars adown the domed sky. 
Shine the lives of the men that are square; 

Their deeds, when they're gone, will after thenn 
live. 
And their virtues be cherished as rare. 

Though fiery hosts in their cycles may fly. 
Yet safe from the storm is the life that is 
square; 

Beyond the pale, milky way in the sky. 
Is his home than Eden more fair. 

We'll meet on the Level and act by the Square, 

As Mason's we know it's our duty to do; 
And the world will be better when we're over 

there. 
Because we've lived in it and journeyed life 
through. 



30 Chips and Whetstones. 



'DADDY MACK*' AND HIS PIPE. 



"Daddy Mack," as we called him, owned a yellow, 

old pipe. 
With a stem whic^ resembled the bill of a snipe; 
The pipe was bright yellow, and was cast out of 

clay. 
And he kept it a-steaming all hours of the day. 
With his legs tightly crossed, he'd puff and he'd 

spit, 
As in the shade of a tree, or on the grass he would 

sit; 
Thus he'd spend all the night till day-break would 

dawn. 
With his smiles and his grunts and an occasional 

yawn; 
Or if we'd listened' contented to the tales he'd un- 
fold. 
We'd be sitting there yet covered over with mould. 
His legs were so short that he walked like a duck. 
And all whom he met, he'd wish them "good-luck." 
In my mind, I can see him! as he waddled along. 
Up and down 'long the road, always murmuring a 

song; 



Chips and Whetstones. 31 



With his\ staff in his hand, and a pack on his 
hack, 

While his pants 'round the waist were loose like a 
sack; 

His hat was wide-brimmed and was "seedy" and 
old. 

And his toes through his shoes stuck out in the 

cold. 
Over eighty long years of life thus he spent 
"Dead-beating" his way, wheresoever he went. 
And if cleanliness is God-like, I own up in tears^, 
"Dad" is lost, — for a bath he'd not taken for years.. 



"Daddy Mack" was chief-liar of the county all 

around, 
For his like on the earth is hard to be found; 
From New York 'round the world he had traveled 

"in cog". 
With none as a witness except his old dog. 
One couldn't mention a place that "Dad" hadn't 

been. 
Nor a city on earth the old man hadn't seen. 
He would puff his clay pipe as he told of his trips. 
And would giggle and laugh as he smacked his 

thin lips. 



32 Chips and Whetstones. 

Death struck him at last, and he went down helow 
Where the blowhards and braggarts are slated to 

go; 
Yet he died hero-like, without a smirk or a frown, 
And he smiled as he laid his great burden down. 
For he knew that the world in travail must moan 
To cast another like him howe'er loud it might 

groan. 



^'Daddy Mack" and his pipe. were unique to the 

last. 
And we mourn that he's gone to the shadowy past; 
We buried him deep, near a cool, shady stream, 
On the flat of his back, *neath the sun's brilliant 

gleam. 
So he could look up, without turning his head, 
For he wanted to know that he was sure enough 

dead. 
As we laid him to rest we passed 'round the wipe. 
And we placed in his mouth his yellow clay pipe. 

Epitaph. 

Here lies at rest poor, old "Daddy Mack," 
The prince of all liars, on the flat of his back; 
When the trumpet of Gabriel sounds its last toot, 
"Daddy Mack" will be there, pressing his suit; 



Chips and Whetstones. 



And if Gabriel ain't sharp, "Dad" will make him 

believe 
He'd been there before, and was out on a leave 
Of absence from home, to bring the weary ones in 
From the turmoils of life and the pathways of sin. 
"Requiescat in pace" dear, old "Daddy Mack," 
May you never grow weary lying flat on your 

back ; 
And if perchance from your sleep, you should ever 

awake, 
You can load up your pipe and a whiff or two take. 



Chips a?jd Whetstones. 



A BROKEN CADENCE. 



I would not serve thee so, 
Oh! no; 
And yet love's light 
Illumes the night; 

Tho' sheens of gold 

To me unfold 
A chasm deep 
That makes me weep, 
And drowneth sleep 

With pain untold. 

I would not serve thee so, 
Oh! no; 

For this strong arm 

Didst thee no harm, — 
But wouldst diefend, 
Thou couldst depend, 

Thou knowest well; 

Why shall. I tell—? 

Love's light dispel, 
Then joy shall end. 



Chips and Whetstones. 35 



SCOOPED THEM. 



As the moon rolled around on her axle. 

And the sun stood still in the sky; 
All the stars stared their eyes as they twinkled, 

While the "toughs'* got their drinks on the sly. 



The police with their battons paraded 
'Neath the light of only the stars, 

And slyly these haunts they invaded 
And placed them behind prison bars. 



36 Chips and Whetstones. 



A FLOWER OF THE SOUTHLAND. 



In the Southland of summer eternal 

Where the flowers so fragrantly bloom, 
And the bright, sunny smiles of the people 

Ever banish the pain and the gloom. 
Which in climates, black sterile and frozen, 

Chill the heart and the life and the brain; 
There I met a sweet, charming young daughter 

Of that chivalrous, tropical plain — 
Which only the land of Palmettos 

From the brain of Minerva can fling — 
Who to cynical, soul-frozen Yankee 

The passion of true love could bring. 

It was late in the month of December 

When this charming, young damisel I met; 
Her sweet smiles I shall always remember. 

In my heart they are lingering yet. 
And the turn of the wheel of the ages, 

As year upon year it has rolled. 
Has effaced not from memory's pages 

Blessed joys that can never be told. 
All in vain have I striven to banish 

The sweet smiles she unwittingly gave; 
They are deathless; and only will vanish 

When I am laid low in my grave. 



Chips and Whetstones. 37 



THANKSGIVING. 



To God we raise our hearts in praise, 
And of His mercies sing; 

In prayer we bow before His throne. 
To Him our trophies bring; 
Our faith in him is one. 



For peace and plenty, joy and rest. 
Thanksgivings here we raise. 

In public and in private place 
Hia^ercieg^ we now praise; 
in Him is one. 



Tho'ATears and cycles come and go. 

And roll forever on 
Adown the corridors of tim(e, 

GrOd*s will, not ours, be done; 
Our hope in Him is one. 




38 Chips and Whetstones. 



WHEN JACK SPENCER DIED. 



Jack Spencer was a "Country Jake," so big and 

strong and angling. 
His hair was red, his head was small, his legs were 

long and angling; 
He a lifter and a bruiser was and could swear a 

streak of lightning, 
But we admired and trusted him because he did 

our fighting. 
He a fiddler was and gambler, too, a dancer and a 

jumper. 
If any one dare cross his path, he was a hitter and 

a thumper. 

Jack skillful was with axe and hoe and plane 

and saw and hammer. 
His neck was thick, his fist was large which he 

used in dextrous manner; 
He was a hustler and a tussler and was anything 

but lazy. 
And those who did'nt know him well, would surely 

call him crazy. 
Although he couldn't read nor write, he'd gathered 

much of knowledge, 
And boastfully would tell the boys he'd never been 

to college. 



Chips and Whetstones. 39 

A marvel of a shuflQer, Jack could shift the deck 

about 
So smooth and slick, the cards would stick, we 

failed to find him out 
Till one would cry "the pot is broke," and then 

we'd raise a breeze. 
As Jack so bland, with teasing smile, would pull an 

ace from out his sleeve; 
At monte, poker, eucher, dice, or any o^er game, 
A child of luck or fortune he would win out all the 

same. 

Jack worked upon the farm with me, and despite 
his faults I loved him^ 

Though dingy always were his clothes and his face 
was wan and slim; 

He had a hump behind his shoulders and a cym- 
bling sort of head. 

And supple like a jumping-jack, he possessed a fe- 
line tread; 

If Jack were dead, we used to think we'd fail to 
get along. 

Because he was courageous, and withal so big 
and strong. 

But the relentless reaper came and swung his 
scythe about 



40 Chips and Whetstones. 

And struck poor Jack's most tender spot and 
snuffed his lamp clean out. 

We gathered round his bier and wept, and passed 
the wipe around, 

And picked up all that was left of Jack and laid 
it in the ground; 

But as we left with tear-dinnmed eyes and measur- 
ed tread and slow, 

We wondered from the plant we'd made, if Jack's 
like again could grow? 

Poor Jack is gone and we are sad; yes sad as boys 
can be. 

Because we know where e'er we go, his like we 
ne'er shall see; 

His fiddle hangs the willows on where blow the 
winds so cold. 

His spirit free sweeps on the while his body turns 
to mold. 

We know not where to find our friend till the cy- 
cles cease to roll. 

But we surely hope to meet him where the death- 
bells never toll. 



Chips and Whetstones. 41 



A PARODY ON LOVE. 



Where's lad or lassie 'steen j-ears old 
Who has not suffered pangs untold 
Of love? Sweet pangs for young and old! 
E'en he whose heart is icy cold 
Is often melted when by maiden told 
Her heart is with his own entwined. 



That mystic somewhat we call love, 
Divine of birth, is trained above, 
Then flies straight on without a shove 
A cooing, wooing turtle-dove; 
All which we can most surely prove 
When Cupid's cords true lovers bind. 



42 Chips and Whetstones. 



THE LIFE STORY OF A SLAVE, 



Soon after England's wicked war against 
Her trans-Atlantic Colonies had ceased. 
Close by that broad, historic river, James, 
Within a^ lovely vale by waving pines, 
Sequestered, I first saw the light of heaven. 
A slave was I, and so was born, yet not 
To wrong or habit; but my master was 
A man; an old Virginia planter he; 
The only difference between us two, 
A trifling one of color. He was white 
And I his brother-man, in skin of black; 
Than this no other reason was assigned 
For slavery. By tolerance divine 
My people were in thrall of service held. 
For many generations thus we toiled 
And suffered on till Freedom came at length. 

In gloom and darkness are early years, 
As o'er them my memory backward rolls 
And with vision true long vistas sweep, 
They unto me great lessons clear reveal. 
Yet I a manumitted slave would not 
The smouldering embers of my life rake o'er; 
Well-nigh consumed the flickering flame is now,. 
And dimly in its socket sinks to-night. 



Chips and Whetstones. 43 

Yet pardon me for saying humbly that, 
'Twas in the rosy morn of my young life, 
I saw my mother on a slave-block sold, 
Upon the Old Dominion's sacred soil. 
Her health and strength had then begun to fail. 
And young and strong alone were wanted there 
To work amid the cotton, corn and cane. 
A price, ah! all too small, for her was paid. 
And far to other fields she went in chains 
To toil the remnant of her fleeting years. 
Although since then five long decades have gone. 
And I have seen her not, yet well I know 
She sings in angelic choirs among the blest 
In Heaven's eternal summerland of rest. 
And all my sisters and my brothers too. 
The same unholy road did likewise tread — 
Some southward; others north and near the line 
'Cross which no slave has ever tracked the sod — 
That blessed land, proud country ever free! 
My father, mother, brothers, sisters, all 
Were scattered far by slavery's vicious law; 
But all, in God's good time, were gathered in 
To freedom's good and final home at last. 
And legions more that painful path have trod; 
I saw it all, alas! and know too well. 
Their muffled groans, e'en now I seem to hear. 
The pains I feel them yet. O, sad, sad thought! 



44 Chips and Whetstones. 

Yet sadder were the partings that I saw 
As weary years of pain dragged slowly by. 
Eternal justice! Where thy thunderbolts? 
Ye angels holy! Where concealed your camps? 
And where thy rod, O Vengeance! Where thy 

sword? 
But, ah! the life of man is brief and lonely, 
And sorrow seems the common lot of all. 

* ******* * 

When young in years I for knowledge hungered, 
But books and learning were denied to slaves; 
And so to man's estate my way was dark. 
No word could spell, nor book nor sentence read ; 
How precious little, therefore, could I know! 
Behold me now, at eighty, stooped and feeble, 
My intellect, which God meant should be great, 
A cloud, because forbidden light to seek. 
'Twas true of others all those darksome days. 
For slaves the fields were meant to plod alone; 
Unlawful 'twas, unsafe to give us more. 
Adown life's weary stream I've slowly drifted. 
Ashamed and blamed the darkened way along 
As ignorant, uncouth, a blockhead boor; 
And yet, Heaven knows, for these I'm not to 

blame! 
All in all, my lot has been a sad one, 
Tho' all the way I've sought to do the right. 



Chips and Whetstones. 45 

And withal I've gathered much of knowledge 
And stored, with miser care, for future use. 



In the Book of Books the Sacred writers tell us 
For epochs great, great leaders must be called ; 
From the gate of Eden to slavery's greatest war. 
Like mien right nobly they've responded 
And, at the Master's bidding, led the van 
For truth and freedom, justice, peace and right. 
There's Moses, who to ages gave the law, 
The greatest hero on the scroll of time. 
Himself he trusted not, but God for all. 
And safely led, thro' many weary years. 
The faithful people, chosen host of Heaven, 
Into a land where milk and honey flowed, 
And where the flowers never cease to bloom- 
Amidst all trouble, suffering, gloom and grief. 
Most bravely threat'ning issues did he meet, 
Until the goal in sight, his work complete. 
His God, with honor, buried him alone. 
Saint Paul, from bigotryt was called of God 
And set upon a nobler work by far 
Than he had ever dreamed of, wrought with God. 
E*er building well and wiser than he knew. 
Himself, a living stone in temple great. 
He helped to rear for Him who dwells on high. 



46 Chips and Whetstones. 

The wheels of Time were speeding ever on: 
The freest, foremost Nation earth had known 
Was surely being wrecked by Slavery; 
The question, Which shall die, our Union great. 
Or that foul **Sum of hum)an villainies?" 
Then God called Lincoln, simple-minded, great 
Of soul; of heroes noblest; good and wise, 
To lead the hosts in that impending fight. 
Him Justice armed with panoply of steel, 
The giant crime he smote with blows of might. 
For Freedom fought till she triumphant stood, 
The right prevailed as Moses saw it do. 
The bonds of human slavery to atoms broke. 
Divinely dashed 'gainst Truth's eternal wall. 
While God for instrument and agent chose 
A Lincoln; His the wisdom, glory, power. 
Thus for our race the victory to win; 
All praise to Him, let men and angels sing. 



Forever rolls the juggernaut of Truth, 
And scourges all must i)erish in its way; 
God's plans are mysteries past finding out. 
Unknown they m/iist remain till His good time; 
But wrong permitted makes us wondering wait; 
God's schemes unfold — His wisdom stands re- 
vealed. 



Chips and Whetstones. 47 

Year after year, beneath the driver's lash. 

The hopeless, toiling slave his burden bore. 

Forever moulding brick without a straw. 

His only wage a lonely cabin home. 

The sullen cloud has lifted, and at last 

The Negro sees as darkly in a glass, 

A purpose holy running through his woes. i 

God suffered it to be that so might come 

To him and his a higher, greater good; 

And if to holiness and justice true 

He stands, a victor's crown he'll wear at last. 

Thus freedom came to an oppressed race; 

The old Virginia slave is now a man. 

And may he prove a man and manly ever be — 

To prove aflaiction's fires have burned the dross 

From out his heart, and left him free indeed. 

And fit himj to stand in dignity a man 

And claim a freeman's rights before the world. 

The rose of rarest beauty has its thorns; 

And flowers yield the richer fragrance crushed; 

Thus life is filled, from childhood days, with 

griefs 
Along the way. But He who died for all. 
For all the wine-press trod. His holy life 
Laid down that all might live forever more. 
In Him I live, and so with me 'tis well; 



48 Chips and Whetstones. 

Again I'll never murmur nor complain. 

Almighty Father! such the lessons are 

In these last days, when thought and speech are 

free, 
I learn again; and firm, yet firmer still 
In mind and soul are fixed forever more. 
That God directs His children's walks and ways 
By His unerring skill and wondrous works. 
And now my flame of life is growing dim. 
And earthly days for me are numbered all, 
The light of heaven grows brighter, brighter 

still, 
Thou Majesty Supreme^ — Eternal God. 



Chips and Whetstones. 49 



LOVE S TORGETMENOT." 



What is love? But he can tell 
Tis like a vine e'er clinging; 
'Tis like a fount up-springing 
To weary ones oft bringing 

Sweet rest and joy when love's their lot. 



What is love? But he can tell 

Whose heart its sweep has taken 
Whose soul its powers awaken 
To high resolves unshaken 

And nobler life — he knows full well. 



What is love? But he can tell 
To show this gem eternal 
Which makes the world fraternal 
With peace and joy supernal; 

It lives, dear friend, forget-me-not. 



50 Chips and Whetstones. 



DAYS THAT ARE GONE FOREVER. 



Among the pines the River Elk is roaring. 

And o'er the rocks the waves revel beneath the 
sun; 
Far up the hills the turkeys and the deer are roam- 
ing, 
Where hunters chase their game, till day is 
done. 

The rain o'er rocks and vales is falling gently. 
With veil of mist the mountain sides are hid 
from view; 

While the prisms of the rain-bow span the emerald 
valley. 
And dark the sky with beauties ever new. 



Flows on the Elk, its crystal spray 'mid gorges 

falling, 

As sentinels each crag the murmuring stream 

doth spurn; 

Hark! hear the birds above the valley calling— 

Those primaeval scenes, alas! shall ne'er return. 



Chips and Whetstones. * 51 

The Indian's homie was these primeval forests, 
'Mid which he roamed unharmed by hungry 
whites ; 
Yet soon across the wilds they came like pirates 
For conquest, spoils and the Red man's sacred 
rights. 



With tomahawk and bow their braves heroic. 

Against the 'Tale Face" waged unequal war; 
To cruel fate they yielded like the Stoic, 

With tribal remnants scattered wide and far. 



When braves and maidens tall and lithe and 

swarthy 

Thus saw resistless Empire sweeping toward 

the west, 

Their wigwams struck and sullen, sad and stealthy 

Began their fruitless search for peace and rest. 



Commending all to that Great Spirit's keeping, 
Long years they followed their Chief's behest 

Thro' trackless plains and forests, ever seeking 
Their long lost "Alabema, here we rest." 



52 Chips and Whetstones. 

Now there's little left of those gloomy days of sor- 
row, 
Save the ghosts that haunt those ancient, weary 
ways 
Of Chief and squaw, who hoped for better things 
to-morrow, 
On hunting grounds to sing their native forest 
lays. 

And never again beside these dashing fountains 
Shall the Red-man's bed of skins and furs be 
spread ; 

Nor shall he roam among these lofty mountains 
And wakeful list the White-man's stealthy tread. 

Alas! poor dusky maidens waiting ever, 

Your warrior friends, the braves, among the 
dead! 

They sleep on hill and valley wide; and never 
Again on earth your piteous call shall heed. 

So to their fate as "braves" they yielded calmnly; 
Their tents they pitched on happier hunting 
grounds. 
And *mid far western hills as a united family, 
Their warriors sleep beneath peculiar Indian 
mounds. 



Chips and Whetstones. 53 

They sleep the sleep that knows no earthly waking, 
Their rights they knew were trampled beneath 
the sod; 
To superior force they yielded at the White-man's 
making, 
And they leave it all to him and to his God. 



54 Chips and Whetstones. 



THE INFINITUDE OP LOVE. 



No greater force on earth than Love exists. 

'Tis sympathy supreme. It rules the world. 

So that atoms other atoms seek. 

As molecules around each other group, 

So meet the positive and negative poles 

Which govern all affairs in human life. 

And kindred souls are gathered close and fast; 

As crystals, sards and saphires gleam and glow, 

So Love, the fertile pollen, lives and grows 

And ripens, after finding mate for mate, 

And loveful hearts clasp hearts in fond embrace; 

As dewdrops, leaf and blade and flower kiss — 

As rivers babbling brooks receive 

And ripple, seethe and lash their rugged shores. 

So Love makes man and woman one in life 

And fashions them for earth and home and heaven. 



Chips and Whetstones. 55 



PASS IT ON. 



If the world don't serve you right, 
Serve yourself with all your might; 
Pass it on. 

Things are seldom w^hat they seem; 
Forge ahead; don't stand and dream, 
Pass them on. 

Have you knowledge gained or lore? 
To increase or keep the store, 
Pass it on. 

Love to keep as in a box, 
Strange as seems the paradox, 
Pass it on. 

Pains will come and sorrows sure, 
Here's a "dope" will always cure: — 
Pass them on. 

If success you safely reach, 
"How to do it," others teach. 
Pass it on. 

Pleasures mayhap, you command, 
Then to others lend a hand, 
Pass them on. 



56 Chips and Whetstones. 



Should it storm across your path, 
"Grin and bear it"; (not in) wrath, 
Pass it on. 

Gentle words from you and me 
Often keep us anger-free; 
Pass them on. 

Weight of years comes on apace. 
Crushing many in the race; 
Pass it on. 

Death is lurking here about; 
Send him word that you are out; 
Pass him on. 



Chips and Whetstones. 57 



IT RAINED, AND IT RAINED. 



'Twas Chicago — the time was in May, 

When it rained, 

And it rained; 
'Twas so charming and bright, 
As the stars shone at night; 
And the birds all the day, 
Gladly sung their sweet lay. 

Though it rained, 

And it rained. 

'Twas Chicago — the moon kissed the lake. 

But it rained, 

And it rained; 
Not a cloud could be seen, 
'Neath the moon's glimmering sheen. 
And the stars shone away 
At the close of the day; 

Still it rained. 

And it rained; 

'Twas Chica^ — the queen of the West, 
Where it rained. 
And it rained; 



58 Chips and Whetstones. 

And the wind wound along. 
And it sang its sweet song, 
As the day swept away, 
'Mid tumultuous sway. 

While it rainedj 

And it rained. 

'Twas Chicago — the hub of the earth. 

There it rained, 

And it rained; 
On its lake beaten shore. 
Mighty waves ever roar. 
And men come and they go, 
Both the rapid and slow. 

As it rained. 

And it rained. 

Twas Chicago — the home of the bles't, 

Where it rained. 

And it rained; 
Nowhere else on the sod, 
'Neath the sway of our God, 
Are all rules set aside. 
And the mark missed so wide, 

When it rains. 

And it rains. 



Chips and Whetstones. 5J> 

In Chicago — the city of wind, 

There it rains, 

And it rains. 
It's a law all its own, 
Though a city well grown; 
And it acts at its will. 
It's great mission to fill. 

As it rains, 

And it rains. 

At Chicago, the wheels roll along, 

Though it rains. 

And it rains; 

The mills never cease 

To sing plenty and peace 

To the toilers great throng, 

As it trudges along. 

While it rains. 
And it rains. 

'Tis Chicago — the gate to the West, 

Where it rained. 

And it rained; 
Sure ''all roads lead to Rome," 
As they go and they come; 
It matters not which you take, 
You will make no mistake 

For it'll rain. 

Surely rain. 



60 Chips akd Whetstones. 

And Chicago's a murky, queer place, 

When it rains. 

And it rains, 
Women's socks red and blue^ 
Ring-ed, striped and new. 
Meet one's gaze — right and left, 
While you guess at their heft, 

As it rains. 

And it rains. 

But Chicago is much of a place, 

Though it rains. 

And it rains; 
It is thrifty and strong, 
And it goes bulging along. 
But you'd best keep away. 
For you know not what day 

It will rain. 

And still rain. 

Chicago — the Prarie du Chem, 

Where it rains, 

And it rains; 
Here the nimble and strong, 
And the right and the wrong 
Vying early and late 
In the conflict of fate. 

While it rains, 

And it rains. 



Chips and Whetstones. 61 

And Chicago's a brisk business place. 

Though it rains. 

And it rains; 
But don't make a mistake 
And stay out very late; 
They'll **run you in" sure. 
Though your motives be pure. 

As it rains. 

And it rains. 

Ah, Chicago you'll dwell on my mind! 

'Cause it rained, . 

And it rained; 
All your mud off my feet 
I will shake in retreat. 
And I promise you never 
To return again ever, 

While it rains, 

And it rains. 



62 Chips and Whetstones. 



BABY NANCE/ 



You're a yearling to-day, Baby Nance, 
My, Oh my, what a youngster you are; 

You can laugh, cry and chatter and dance. 
Rain or shine very little you care; 

You'r a yearling to-day, Baby Nance. 

You've a year rounded out in the race^ 
As the world rolls along with a rush; 

Many think you're a tough little case, 

But your mamma's ''main guy in the push," 

Though but a yearling to-day. Baby Nance. 

Not a thought of a care that's to come. 
Nor a wave, nor a shadow of fate 

Clouds your mind, darling child of the home; 
Truly yours is a heavenly state, 

As a yearling to-day, Baby Nance. 

As the years creep along. Baby Nance, 

And the briars and thorns hedge your way. 

And a tear for your song, it may chance, 
Be a brave to endure it your day, 

Little darling, our own Baby Nance. 



♦Written the day my first grand-child Nancy Ellen 
Bciiry) passed her first mile-stone in the battle of life. 



Chips and Whetstones. 63 

God is kind to his child. Baby Nance, 
He will guide and protect all the way — 

If in virtue you choose to advance; 
But far distant and hid be the day 

That shall call j^ou from us, Baby Nance. 



Let the years come and go as they will. 
Walk erect as you journey alone; 

Joy the hearts of your parents will fill; 
At the end the acclaim of "well done," 

Will forever be yours, Baby Nance. 



64 Chips and Whetstones. 



THE LADY I MET IN THE PARK.=^ 



In a park is a place fraught with blessings so 
sweet; 
How oft have we met over there! 
Neath the shade of a pine. 
Where shrubs neatly twine, 
Have w^e sat in the calm evening air. 

'Twas divine to sit there in that sweet sylvan spot. 
While the unthinking strolled to and fro; 

Yet to dwell 'neath a pine 

As a swain to recline, 
There to meet one I loved would I go. 

As a dream, all the sorrows of life we forget, 
But the offering of love shall remain; 

And whatever be thy lot 

Thou shalt not be forgot, 
And I know I shall meet thee again. 



*I married that same girl. 



Chips and Whetstones. 65 



THE BELL IN STATE STREET CHURCH 
TOWER. 



That bell! The State Street bell, now ringing, 
On street and alley far and wide its tones we 

* greet. 

To sacred prayer in pleading accents calling: — 
Like Mary, "Come, and sit at Jesus' feet." 



II 



That solemn bell! whose sacred music ringing, 
Recalls that potent Faith which all would win. 

And lift them up and turn their wails to singing 
Triumphant oven Satan, Death and Sin. 



Ill 



Its cheering tones! — God's notes of faithful warn= 
ing— 

Come ringing, ringing, ringing o'er the plain. 
To all mankind in accents sweet proclaiming: — 

"Tho' dead, thou shalt surely live again." 



66 Chips and Whetstones. 



IV 



Sweet Consolation! Praise to God unceasing; 
This mundane sphere may roll thro' years un- 
told, 
And raging storms blow dark thro' time unending. 
Yet all God's flock are safe witihn His fold. 
O, singing bell, 
O, joyful bell. 
Ring on forever more! 



Chips and Whetstones. 67 



THE LADIES." 



"There are women who are comely, 
There are women who are homely, 

But be careful how the latter thing you say; 
There are women who are healthy, 
There are women who are wealthy, 

There are women who will always have their 
way. 

"There are women who are truthful, 
There are women who are youthful,. 

Was there ever any woman who was old? 
There are women who are sainted. 
There are women who are painted. 

There are women who are worth their weight in 
gold.'' 

There are women who are prudent, 
There are women who are students. 

There are women who are thoughtless day by 
day; 
There are women who are shirkers. 
There are women who are workers. 

There are women who will always have their 
say. 



*A toast responded to at a Banquet in honor of Con- 
gressmen Hubbard and Sturgiss, of West Virginia, at the « 
Riggs Hotel, Washington, D. C.,* March 9, 1908. 



68 Chips and Whetstones. 

"There are women who are tender. 
There are women who are slender, 

There are women who are large and fat and red; 
There are women who are married. 
There are women who have tarried, 

There are women who can't talk, but they are 
dead." 

To you my words of greeting. 
At this joyful, pleasant meeting, 

Dear ladies, may your hearts be filled with glee; 
And may these new Congressmen's home bowers. 
Be graced with charming flowers. 

And their successors — may they never live to see. 

When a fellow reaches fifty, 
AVhether short of funds or thrifty, 

He needs to be kept quiet and alone; 
And when his career is ended. 
It's too late to be amended. 

You can safely say you're glad that he is gone. 

What a man needs most on earth, 
Is an easy, pleasant berth — 

To be left alone to grumble loud and long; 
What he wants beneath the sky 
Are his weaknesses passed by. 

And never to be told that he is wrong. 



Chips and Whetstones. 69 

If our wives are real bright, 
Tiiey'd need no second sight 

To teach them their duties here below; 
They'd go away contented 
And never be prevented 

From tramping where they feel they want to go. 

Now, don't become excited, 
These words will be requited, 

Should any of you be wounded to the "red;" 
For the ladies who are faithful 
Will never become hateful — 

At anything about them that is said. 

Of all beneath the stars. 
And those on the planet Mars, 

The ladies are the sweetest and the best; 
A world without their blessings 
And their honest, dear caressings, 

Would never be a place for man to rest. 

If you'll attend your avocations, 
And avoid all dissipations, 

As down the slope you journey, one by one; 
And when life's dreams are ended, 
God's hand will be extended 

To commend you for the work that you have 
done. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



Toast. 

To our West Virginia mothers. 
Independent of all others. 

This toast I offer to their worth; 
They are the basis of the Nation, 
The acme of creation — 

Beyond doubt, they're the cream of all the earth. 



Chips and Whetstones. 71 

DELTA TAU DELTA: A COLLEGE FRA- 
TERNITY. 



West Virginia's evergreen, towering hills, 
Wherein brain like pure diamonds and as clear as 

the rills — 
Native products par excellence time out'o mind — 

Saw the birth of a child which was destined to 

find 
Honored mission 'mong men and a name un- 

maligned. 

The approaches all guarded lest foes make a raid, 
With immaculate care her toilet they mlade; 

And they christened her there as with sponsors she 
knelt 

By the High Priest's gold font on a carpet of felt 

*Mid the darkness of night, peerless "Delta Tau 

Delt." 



Was there need for this "Frat" is the question to 

solve? 
We are here to affirm it by solemn resolve 
That of all college "Frats" on the face of the 

earth 
Happy "Delt" ranks A 1 from the day of her birth; 
And we loudly proclaim her vast merits and worth. 



72 Chips and Whetstones. 



There are all sorts of **Frats" — some little, some 
large — 

There are those against which the minor one's 
charge 

That they carry big sacks all across their strong 
backs 

For to scoop the bright men who may cross ah, 
alack! 

O'er the roads where the "Belts" in their march 

leave their tracks. 



We concede it. Remember, however, the law of 

the Lord, 
Which in characters bold there is writ in His 

Word, 
That the weak must give in to the strong in the 

fight- 
That one's self must surender for others' delight — 
All the sages, too, teach it, then sure it is right. 

Shall we bring on a war 'gainst the ages agone, 
To appease the dear "Frats" that but little have 

done — 
Who bemoan their sad state because they were 

pres't — 
By this "Frat" here of ours, which is surely the 

best 
Of the bunch, as it easily leads all the rest? 



Chips and Whetstones. 73 



Not at all. Let each tub on its own bottom stand; 

Or at sea in a storm bravely strive to make land. 

And the one that lands first shall be counted the 
best: 

Now Old Delt won that race miles ahead of the 
rest; 

So she's queen of the seas from the East to the 
West. 



\ 
All our dear sister "Frats" may trot out their 
sprints, 

And may whine and cross-whine and do all sorts of 
stints. 

But they're surely not in it, because they're too 
slow ^ 

To get into the wagon when ordered to go — 
When the "rounding up" came they were pictures 
of woe. 

We're lamenting to-night for our dear sister 

"Frats," 
Though an elegant hu7ich they're par excellent 

sats; 
They all "ponied" through school at the snail's 

slowest gait, 
And they heard the sad word, "My dear boys, you 

are late — 
Late to honor yourselves, your country or state." 



Chips and Whetstones. 



Dear Old Delt is so big that she spans the whole 

earth. 
As we meet here to-night amid joy, glee and mirth, 
To salute one another and pass the wipe 'round, 
And the pass-word give gently in deep, solemn 

sound, 
With a faith still unbroken while we're above 

ground. 

Now our members are scattered the wide world 

around. 
Across ocean and sea, along river and sound; 
And the grip of a *'Delta" is abroad in the world. 
Wheresoever the Banner of Light is unfurled. 
And the Arrows of Truth by the Master are 

hurled. 

'Mid the woodlands of Maine are our "Belts" to be 
found, 

And their songs and melees make the forests re- 
sound ; 

From the Keys up the Coast which emborders the 
South 

The wild yell of the Belt's too-familiar big mouth 

Can be heard and is known 'madst the rain and 
the drought. 



Chips and Whetstones. 75 

Par away on the Rockies our "Delts" are en- 
trenched, 

To get there, how they scrambled and twisted and 
wrenched 

Their long necks and their muscles of steel. They'll 
be slow 

To surrender their holdings, to get which you 
know. 

Took a heart like an engine for push and for go. 

To the cotton fields, canebrakes and swamps of the 

South, 
To her forests, and rivers from fountain to mouth, 
To her mountains and mines they came doing their 

best 
To develop that region for themselves and the 

rest; 
And their merit there proved by many a dare-devil 

test. 



Long the shores of the bellowing, blue sunset sea. 
Our beloved have squatted on mountain and lea; 
And are rustling and hustling like squirrels for 

bread ; 
In advance we can say they will come out ahead. 
For a "Delt" won't surrender until he is dead. 



Chips and Whetstones. 



We remember too well all our "Frats" under ban 

Of the college officials, who then overran 

Our domain; and by censors and spies day and 
night 

Still pursued as a hawk doth a bird in its flight; 

But to win recognition we kept up the fight. 

In our meetings for safety the keyholes we corked, 

As both early and late we bad roysterers worked, 

Thus evading the spies who e'er shadowed our 
halls; 

For by keeping outside all their sinister calls, 

EVery secret we guarded within our own Walls. 

But as Truth crushed and bleeding will rise up 
again, 

So the *'Frats" who at first all proscribed in dis- 
dain — 

(They e'en charged that we all with "Old Nick" 
were allied) 

Bravely stood by each other. Old Princeps defied 

Till we won out in triumph; now who dares de- 
ride? 

For the college officials our aid sought at length, 
As while wrestling like Jacob they lost all their 
strength; 



Chips and Whetstones. 77 

So they buried their hatchets and called off the 

fuss ; 
And we're living in peace. And "so mote it be" 

thus ; 
But remember for aye, — it was, they came to us. 



Where else in this wide world are the valleys so 
sweet 

As are those in whose bosoms the bright waters 
meet ; 

Where the cords of one's heart around others en- 
twine 

And where each too his neighbor says, "Thy will 

and not mine 
Shall prevail!" Thus to yield, like the Christ, is 

divine. 



And the friends of our bosoms beloved and near 

Make the scenes of enchantmtent cast out every 
fear ; 

And we see how the charms of Old Nature im- 
prove 

AVhen reflected from eyes of true friendship and 
love. 

Like the unspoken signs which descend from above. 



78 Chips and Whetstones. 



In a vale that's fraternal how calm can we rest. 

On the bosom of Peace among those we love best, 

Where the storms of this world forever surcease. 

And from turmoils within we are granted release. 

There our hearts, like the waters, may mingle in 
peace. 

How happy a home this old world would be. 
If all were contented, and would jointly agree 
The knave to cast out, the unfaithful deride, 
To stand like the rock, with Truth on their side. 
And in peace, joy and love forever abide. 

And to-night as in Memory's bark we may glide 
Reminiscent; a cursory glance side to side 
Plainly shows our mistakes where we journeyed 

along. 
As beguiled and deceived by the Siren's sweet song 
We oft yielded like Eve and more sadly went 

wrong. 

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 

As we calmly look back o'er the rivers we've 

crossed ; 
But come the more rare such delights to the 

heart, 
For we think O, so little, of life at the start! 
'Tis joy in beginning, but is lost when we part. 



Chips and Whetstones. 79 

But when desert rejoices and blooms like the rose, 

When from heart unto heart all good fellowship 
flows. 

With that devil called self and all others over- 
thrown. 

Then this crazy old World will most surely be- 
come, 

In amended edition, our once happy home. 

Here's to all Brother "Belts" who are yet on the 

sod, 
May they ever be true to themselves and their 

God; 
As the j^ears roll away, may it truly be said — 
On the Altar of Truth their best efforts were laid, 
And the world was made sweeter for the parts they 

have played. 



80 Chips and Whetstones. 



19 2. 



All hail, to nineteen hundred two. 
And here's to you, old Father Time; 

Were it within my power to do 
I'd stop your clock and break your chime; 
I mean it, yes I do. 

II. 

And yet old man, I wish j^ou well; 

Your joys and sorrows dole to all — 
To those that need you — but, farewell, 
On thee I'll not presume to call; 

Pass on, I need thee not. 
III. 
You do folks up and do them bro\vTi, 
Your speed in running seems to last; 
But hold, Old Man, you do folks down, 
Fm growing weak, don't rush so fast. 
Hold up and catch your breath. 

IV. 
Hold up, hold up; go slow. Old Man! 

The track's for others, don't you know? 
Don't keep forever in the van; 

Give those a chance whose strength is low. 
Go slow. Old Man, go slow. 



Chips and Whetstones. 81 



ZELIA: A LEGEND OF THE HOME- 
STEAD STRIKE. 



The Plot. 

The labor strike at Homestead, a suburb of Pitts- 
burg, Pennsylvania, in 1892, was one of the most 
noted conflicts between capital and labor ever 
known in the civilized world. The members of 
labor unions, in that section, withdrew from the 
mills, and their places were filled by non-union 
men. The result of the strike was disorder and 
blood-shed — several of the strikers and non-union 
men being killed. Hugh F. Dempsey was chief 
of the organization known as the ''Knights of La- 
bor," and he, along with other labor leaders, was 
arrested for the alleged murder of the non-union 
men. After a long, tedious court trial at Pittsburg, 
Dempsey was convicted and was sentenced to the 
penitentairy for a long period of years. His wife, 
whose name was "Zelia", was wonderfully attached 
to him, and she never ceased her efforts in his 
behalf until she, through her attorney, the Hon- 
orable Thomas Marshall, of Pittsburg, secured his 



82 Chh^s and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Sliik»r 

unconditional pardon. While at Pittsburg, about 
a year after the strike, I called on Mr. Marshall 
to confer with him in a case in which we were 
jointly concerned as attorneys, and on that occa- 
sion he reviewed the facts of the strike, and in- 
formed me that the devotion of Dempsey's wife to 
her husband, who was then serving a term in the 
Western Penitentiary at Allegheny City, was the 
most marked that he had ever known in his prac- 
tice of criminal law, which covered a period of 
something near fifty years. His deep interest in 
the case and his firm opinion that Dempsey was 
unjustly convicted, so deeply impressed me that I 
was led to write the history of the occurrence and 
the trial in the verses which follow. I wish to 
distinctly state that, although I wrote all that is 
herein printed, I wrote it as a history of the case^ 
based upon the facts furnished me by Mr. Mar- 
shall, and not as an expression of my own indi- 
vidual views of strikes and court trials. 

Prologue. 

I. 

I often wonder as the years roll by. 
If true it is that Nature's storms severe 
As broils of life more numerous become, 



Chips am> Whetstones. 83 



And down the vista roll like time and tide; 

If God, in goodness infinite, supreme. 

Against poor man, His ancient enemy. 

The crimes of ancestors unknown doth hold; 

And whether. you and I must suffer still 

For those old sins as cycles roll adown 

The corridors of time. ********* 

***** '^' * * * *0r worse, still worse. 

As pessimist of evil eye doth hold 

And evermore in croaking discords groans, 

That Nature's weeping o'er a ruined world. 

As down the swirling streams of life we're dashed 

To that black sea whence none returns. 

* iif ili i'fi ^ :ii ^ :i: ^ 

II. 

The Universe is God supreme; 

His loving hand in earth is ever seen; 

Yet sorrowful the storms sweep o'er hill 

And plain and rolling sea. For what good end 

There's none can tell. Why, therefore, think it 

strange 
We pause and wonder? Yes. Affliction's hand 

Is heavy on us all; hut we ourselves 

Must bear the pains where we have been the cause ; 

God willed them not. Life's broils grow only 

when 



84 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strike. 
We feed them by our acts; and whether few 
Or many, we ourselves alone decide. 
That we must reap as we have sown is Truth 
As ancient as the sun. It may be crushed 
And down awhile, but will again arise; 
For God supreme in justice so decrees. 
And this Old World, if ill or better made 
By us, depends upon our duties done 
Or shirked, as will appear when God himself 
The scroll unrolls and all our record shows 
Before assembled worlds. 



THE ^ ^ SMOKY CITY. ' 



It was not in the land of the cypress and flowers. 

Nor the eden of shrines and all charming love 
bowers ; 

Where the eagle and vulture upsoar in their flight. 

And the nightingale sings in the midst of the 
night; 

Where the light-winged zephyr doth waft its per- 
fume. 

From the roses in meadows all laden with bloom; 

Nor the land of the cedar, the spruce and the pine, 



Chips and Whetstones. 85 

Where the amorous vines all around them en- 
twine; 
Or of sparkling, clear waters as pure as the dew 
O'er swept by the clouds tinted azure and blue; 
Where the lark in the valley doth sing his sweet 

lay, 
And the hunter and hounds still pursue their wild 

way; 
Or the rock-ribbed hills ever hem in the vales, 
And fair ships on the waters are flaunting their 

sails; 
Where the tints of the earthy and the hues of the 

sky, 
With their colors all varied in beauty do vie; 
.Where are women as chaste as the laurels they 

weave ; 
And the men are as free as the air that they 

breathe; 
Where the right, and not wrong, is the rule of 

them all. 
And the people as pure as the snow-flakes that 

fall; 
Where the law is the guide-book of every man's 

life. 
And where none are disturbed by the tumult or 

strife; 
Where one is not honored because of his birth, 



86 Chips a?sd Whetstones. 

Zolia - The Homestead Strike. 

But where all are still measured by their merit 

and worth; 
Where the castes and their kindred all men will 

deny. 
And the law and the right there are none to defy; 
Where the all-toiling thousands are equal in worth. 
With the wealthy old barons and lords of the 

earth. 



My dear reader, not this of the city I speak, 
'Tis not Eden at all, but the home of the w^eak 
Who there toil, without murmur, from year unto 

year, 
And are oft treated ill by employers they fear. 
There is nothing inviting, or charming, or sweet. 
In the sky above them, or beneath their tired feet; 
The sun rarely doth shine, for the sky is o'er cast. 
By thick clouds of black smoke from out furnace 

and blast; 
Look about as you may, but few beauties are there. 
Nor aroma of flowers to scent the foul air; 
Even birds rarely sing, and no flowers e'er bloom — 
In their stead is the noise of the anvil and loom; 
As one looks at the wheels rolling round and 

around. 
He is thrilled by Old Industry's soul-gi'ating sound; 



Chips a^d Whetstones. 87 

'Tis a citj'^ in enterprise great and in wealth, 
And its people are blessed with the best kind of 

health ; 
From the dawn till the twilight they earnestly 

strive. 
To excel one another in the push and the drive; 
And for energy and thrift I stoutly defy 
One to find us its equal beneath the blue sky. 



THE STRIKE. 



'Tis a rule from the Master and True, 
And if followed in letter and spirit, 
It is golden to guide us in action: — 

''Do to others as OUGHT they to you;'' 

But in life's avocations all through, 
A pei'version by Satan malicious 
And a reason potential for broils is^ 

*'Do to others as DO they to you.'' 

In the year of our Lord — ninety-two, 

In a suburb of Pittsburg called Homestead, 
Was a Cut in the wages of workmen 

To employers till then ever true, — 



88 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead striKe. 
Thro* the heat and the cold and the rain 

Ever toiling in mills and at anvil and furnace; 

I ask why, in the name of square dealing, 
Not to murmair, or shirk, or complain. 



If employers combine to defy 

Toiling men what they ask for in reason; 

I ask why, in the name of square dealing 
To their men the same right they deny? 



If 'tis righteous for wealth to combine 
And to arm to the teeth for the battle. 
Why inhibit by rule the poor toiler, 

Wealth producer, his rights to define? 



What is law for the one should apply 
To the other without class distinction; 
We submit this^ the great ultimatum^ 

And the right to restrict it deny. 



So, as much for enployer as self, 
In a Union they banded together. 
And? resolved they would all stand united 

In resisting those greedy for pelf. 



Chips and Whetstones. 8^ 

Now this cut in the wage workers* pay- 
In the year ninety-two made at Homestead 
Was a crime, nothing else, against Labor, 

Which at Money's own door we must lay. 



It was hunger insatiate for gain. 
Which the pay of the toiler reduced, 
But the Trust didn't care a red penny 

If to Labor it meant endless pain. 



The percentage net gain on their "stuft," 
In some instances mounting to thousands 
Would so fill up the maw of the ghoul, 

One would cry out in pain — "hold enough.' 



For this folly a great strike ensued. 

Union men took their tools and withdrawing 
Found their "jobs" by "scabs" being filled 

Which gave rise to a terrible feud. 



Union men stood as firm as the hills 
For their rights on which others were tramping. 
And detectives were quickly sent flying 

By these workmen of resolute wills. 



90 Chips a^d Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strike* 
T^ the rescue came the troox)S of the State, 
And the conflict was long and terrific, 
But at length the stronger overcome. 
Sore defeat was the workingmen's fate. 



To the courts the sad contest now came. 
And the trial was fought with a fierceness; 
The producer — a mocking of justice, 

A blot on our country's fair fame. 



In the court was a mass of rich men, 
Who to reveal the power of wealth 
Seized the working-men's leader as victim. 

And Hugh Demipsey was sent to the "pen." 



He his comrades believed to be just 

To all men loving i)eace — Master Workman 
Knight of Labor, with all else a freeman. 

Was struck down by command of the Trust. 

He protested lie'-d done nothing wrong, 
But for lucre the proof was forthcoming, 
Which though false from the end to beginning. 

Made the trial both weary and long. 



Chips and Whetstones. 91 

'Twas conviction by clamor and strife. 
And a piece of mock-trial injustice; 
Yet in spite of the Trust a full pardon 

Later brought him again to his wife. 



To labor's side in this conflict was laid. 
By the employers of those that were toiling^ 
And in the heat of furnace were broiling, 

By the strike, their own beds they had made. 



I've lived years in this world, and I know 
There's always two sides to a fight; 
And oft men ignore what isi right 

When they hastily strike the first blow. 



It's easy for men to croak loud and long. 
And to charge it as aggression. 
Loud injustice and oppression, 

For on© to defend his property is wrong; 



This is wrong — forever gross wrong; 

All men should be fair. 

Yet we know this is rare, — 
For the weak cannot kill ofC the strong. 



92 Chips and Whetstones. 

iceiia - The Homesteaa ^Dtrike. 



As a rule courts are just — this I know; 

But as ropes round the necks tighter draw 
There are those that cry loud 'gainst law; 

And against justice vile epithets throw. 

It*s a crime to condemn Truth and Right; 
The sooner we learn this the better, 
And all stand by the law to the letter, — 

Then we'll move slow in forcing a fight. 

THE PRISONER TO HIS WIFE. 



Blest be thou my own Zelia, 
Brightest star in my night, 
Fairest flower of prairie, 
And my only delight. 

Blest be thou my own Zelia, 

Thou art fair and so bright; 

All my hopes are upon thee. 

In my prison life's night. 

True to me, Gem of Story, 
Thou wilt always do right. 

In this world false and fickle 
And away from my sight 



Chips and Whetstones. 93 

I will trust thee for ever. 

For to me thou art true, 
Thou wilt turn from me never. 

As all others might do. 



As I lie in this prison. 
Where I ought not to be. 

And time drags oh! so slowly, 
I am thinking of thee. 



Three long years have gone by me 
While I've slept in this cell. 

How my heart aches for Zelia, 
Only God can e'er tell. 



And for wrongs I have done not. 
Toil and suffer I must. 

For their yoke is upon me, 
And I'm down in the dust. 



When men gain their lost reason. 
They'll atone for the crime 

That has robbed me of freedom, 
May God hasten the time. 



94 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead StriKa, 
Blest be thou my own Zelia, 

For thy true love to me! 
When these cell holts are broken, 

I'll live only for thee. 

Happy days of thy girlhood! 

Oh, how fresh to my mind! 
Blest be thou my own Zelia, 

Ever gentle and kind; 

Now the wife of my bosom 
Bringeth joy and a song, 

For I hear of full pardon — 
I'll see Zelia e'er long. 



*Twas Hope's star ever shining 
And devotion to thee. 

That has saved me from dying 
And a free man to be; 



And so Good over Evil 
In the end shall prevail. 

It shall cast out the Devil, 
It shall nevermore fail. 



Chips and Whetstones. 95 



THE WIFE'S RESPONSE. 



How oft have I thought of my childhood's bright 
morning, 
And the sweet merry years I then spent in my 
home 
On the bank of Ohio's pellucid, blue waters. 
Never dreaming of struggle in years yet to come. 

Little known then were life's earnest battles, 
And small were my thoughts of the years still 

to come; 
Absorbed by the now, and with not the hereafter. 
For nothing concerned me, if school tasks were 
done. 

Overzealous in folly, with shame I remember, 

How oft I refused to obey as I ought 
The commands of my parents to be more consist- 
ent. 
Disobey, as recalled, was remote from my 
thought, 

'Twas the child in m^ make-up— I tried to control 

it, 
I strug^ed and labored— my efforts were vain; 



96 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strike. 
Like all youths I was thoughtless — a zealot in 
folly. 
And my frolicsome pranks never failed to bring 
pain. 



All these acts of the girl I recall with regret, 
'Twas the least of my thought to do ought but 
the right; 
The reproofs of my mother I'll never forget, 
God grant that these visions may fade from my 
sight. 



But tho* giddy and prankish and oft inconsistent. 
My conscience is clear that I've always been 
true 

To my God and the right, I can challenge denial, 
I'm ready to answer as all mortals must do. 



Behold me a woman, dependent and helpless. 
How oft have I longed for return of my youth! 

Yet it comes not again though entreated in earnest. 
And I bring to my rescue all weapons of Truth. 



Chips and Whetstones. 97 

Oh, the tears, burning tears, I know now their full 
meaning! 
Blinding tears from the depths of a soul sick 
and sore. 
Arise in my heart though I try to repress them. 
As I dream of the days which return never 
more. 

On the tablets of stone Moses wrote for the ages 
That the sins of the fathers to offspring entail; 

For their wrongs we must suffer because of sin's 
wages. 
But God willed it so, and His will must prevaiL 

In earth's pleasant places my lines have not fallen, 
And the world's fairest flowers weren't strewn 
at my feet; 
But of burdens and sorrows I've had my full por- 
tion. 
Why murmur or waver at trials I meet? 

How heartless the law! it is justice, not mercy. 

To its mandates we all must in reverence bow. 
Oh, the heart-strings it breaks and the homes that 
it darkens! 
How black are the clouds which hang over me 
now. 



98 Chips ajsd Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strika» 

Not the cause, nor result of enforcement of jus- 
tice. 
Nor the wages of sin which does always breed 
pain; 
But prejudice, passion and falsehood — deception, 
Drove the light from my home to return not 
again. 

From the days of my childhood the law I have rev- 
erenced. 
And patriotism placed above all else besides; 
But now I am persuaded that caste wields the scep- 
tre. 
That money is King, the while Truth is de- 
nied. 



It pains to believe in the truth of these charges, 
But nevertheless I'm persuaded they're true, 
As freemen our voters en mass should denounce 

it. 

And a change now demand — its our duty to do. 

I've sat in our courts, which we style courts ol 
justice. 
And have seen men convicted by clamor and 
strife; 



CHn?S AND Whet^ones. %^ 

In the name of the law my own precious, good hus- 
band 
Was torn from my heart and imprisoned for life. 

There's a void in his life, and sad tears in his 
vision, 
Still again "o'er his iDath may the young roses 
twine; 
Though sad that his light has been turned into 
darkness, 
Yet he'll smile once again when he crosses the 
line. 

'Tis the lot of mankind of all races to suffer. 
And each, in his turn, must meet grief and pain ; 

But the one who sows tears in the line of his duty> 
In the end, if he's true, shall rejoice once again. 

Law is right, but a court, when it yields to a 
clamor 
Is a farce, and it must be condemned by the 
mass; 
Speed the day when our judges, our juries, our 
people. 
Shall be ruled by their conscience, and not by 
a class « 



100 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strike- 
We boast of the freedom of speech by our people. 
We talk of our right to denounce what is wrong : 
Save the mark! for our laws let men trample 
On the rights of the weak, by the v/ealthy and 
strong. 



If justice were blind as in law is intended, 
'Twould be cruel if mercy were pleaded for 
crime; 
When men are oft punished for crimes done by 
others. 
We complain then and murmur, 'tis nature — 
sublime. 



'Tis true I'm a woman, but I speak for my people, 
And my voice shall not cease to condemn what 

is wrong; 
I'll clina to my spouse and denounce his op- 
posers 
To the end of my life, be it short or else long. 



I have faith in the right, still our courts may de- 
ride it, 
Though at times for its triumphs our hopes 
may be gone, 



Chips and Whetstones. 101 

But inspired by the truth, in the end it must con- 
quer, 
For God wills it so, and His will must be done. 

Though the waters are chilly and roll dark and 
turbid. 
But the danger-line's past by the swell of the 
tide. 
Many treasures of mine have gone down in the 
struggle. 
Oh, I long for bland winds o'er the billows to 
ride! 

Three years have I bathed in these sad, purple 
waters 
That swept o'er my pathway, my hopes to de- 
ride; 
Though they saddened my life, yet much good 
have I gathered. 
While tossed to and fro by the murky, rough 
tide. 

We are blind at the best, and care not for our 
blessings. 
While our lives swell with joy as the years roll 
away; 



302 Chips and Whetstones. 

""ZeTTa - The Homestead Strike. " 

But when arrows fall thick and our bodies are 
wounded, 
Then we see the dark clouds as they darken 
the day. 

In this cold, cruel world God's own hand marks my 

goings, 

I'll trust to His guidance and sail o'er the sea; 

For all of my broodings the clouds have a lining. 

Through their rifts pipes a voice that is calling 

to me: — 

i 

"Though wild is the tempest and dark is the 
night. 

Yet soon will the day-break be ^dawning; 
Then the pleasures of yore will blossom once more. 

And we'll all meet again in the morning." 
« ******** 



THE PARDON. 



How happy they who reach the place 
Where sorrow's pangs are broken, 

To rest within wife's loving arms 
And cheerful words are spoken. 



Chips axd Whetstones. 103 

Since pardon came from men of State, 

To them my heart is clinging, 
I feel so joyful all the time, 

How can I keep from singing? 

"'A light I never knew before 

Around my path is breaking, 
And cheerful songs of grateful praise 

My raptured soul is waking." 

I'm out again, I praise the day 
When prison bolts were shifted — 

Which made me free, ah! none can know 
The load from me that's shifted. 

How slowly one the lesson learns 
To see the blow and feel the pain, 

To smile and kiss the hand that spurns 
And render only love again. 

1*11 be a man^ I know I can, 

As wife, my greatest treasure, 

Forgives me all, the great, the small 

Of wrongs I've done full measure. 
* ******** * 



104 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zelia - The Homestead Strikti. 
HOME AGAIN. 



My term within the prison^s o'er, my longings 

there are through; 
There I with convict's daily lived, to Warden I 

was true; 
I staid so long within my cell, it grew to be like 

home. 
The day they set to make me free, I thought would 

never come; 
But Warden led me to the door, and gently cleared 

the way. 
His word to me I'll ne'er forget, "You're going 

home to-day." 

How glad I was, no one can know, the day that I 

came down 
From Allegheny's hilly slope to my native, homely 

town; 
How scenes have changed, how old they seem, 

new faces all around, 
I scarcely knew a man I met — ^how strange was 

every sound; 
The clothes I wore within my cell, I'll safely stow 

away. 
And don the suit I used to wear, when I get home 

to-day. 



Chips and Whetstones. 105 

My wife, good soul, how kind she is, came swiftly 
to the door. 

Her arms around my neck she clasped — I'll leave 
her never more; 

The lamp was in the window yet, she kept it 
there those years. 

It ne'er went out, with her about, she cleansed it 
with her tears; 

The vacant chair around the board, I filled the old- 
time way. 

How happy was our place once more, when I got 
home that day! 

We talk of Heaven yet to come, it seems to me 

it's here 
Upon the earth — the sun-kissed earth — with those 

to us that's dear. 
A peaceful home, a loving wife, good friends on 

every hand, 
Is bliss supreme, unmeasured bliss, it's Heaven's 

own border-land; 
"But let my creed be wrong or right, or be it as 

it may," 

The dearest spot I'll ever see, is the home I'm in 

to-day. 
« ******** * 



106 Chips and Whetstones. 

Zeiia - The Homestead Strike. 
THE JOYOUS WELCOME. 



With joyful hearty welcomie, 

Do I greet you dear, again, 
Within that cheerless prison. 

You suffered long with pain; 
'Twas sad to be thus parted, 

Yet it had to be that way. 
My heart was always with you. 

Every moment night and day. 

I cannot now reproach you 

For the burdens long I bore, 
A Court it was -decreed it. 

And I hate it all the more; 
My heart is filled with gladness, 

For again we'll never part, 
I welcome you, my husband, 

Welcome, welcome to my heart! 

Within that gloomy prison. 
Was no touch of loving hand, 

'Twas like across the ocean 
In a strange and foreign land, 



Chips and Whetstones. 107 

Without a smile to greet you, 

Or a joy of social kind, 
Nor arms of one to clasp you 

Like the wife you left behind. 

You're pale from long confinement, 

And a sorrow marks your brow; 
They'll not be long upon you. 

For you're home with me right now; 
'Twas cruel thus to part us, 

And to fill our hearts with pain, 
Tho' Right is slow in movement, 

Yet it sent you home again. 

With love and joy I greet you. 
Oh! my heart is running o'er! 

'Tis balm that's filled with healing- 
Just to see your face once more; 

These weary years of waiting. 
How I prayed for your return; 

The wrongs done you by others, 
How^ they caused my cheeks to burnT 

The cruel strife is over. 

And the bridge we've safely crossed, 
The burdens we've been bearing 

Unto others now are tossed; 



lOS Chips and Whetstones. 

Zolia - The Homestead Strike, 
Till death shall end our sorrows> 

And all troubles here are past. 
We'll dwell at home together — 

May we meet above at last 

■n 

MORAL. 



And the moral this legend doth teach is, 
That the husband give heed to his wife; 

For the world is both bold and inhuman 
And at best is encompassed by strife. 

Home alone is a haven, a refuge, 

For the husband, a joyous retreat. 
When from toils of the day he is weary 

At the iireside his loved ones to greet. 

The true love of a wife pure and gentle, 
Should e'er be her husband's delight; 

While he lovingly heeds her entreaty: 

''Noic, my dearest, don't stay out at night** 

For all time it must not be forgotten: 

'Twas the "stay-outs" that caused the big strike^ 

And that home is a lodge that should hold one 
'Gainst enchantments that many so like. 



Chips and Whetstones. 109 



This Old World which bids men "Ke&p moving,'* 
Surely spurns them as soon as they fall; 

But one's wife like a vine will cling round him, 
And her counsel's the safest of all. 

Remember, she longs for thy greeting, 
And thy smile is her star shining light; 

In Home fortress, no shaft can there strike thee. 
And good husbands won't stay out at night 

When your battles with Combines tyrannic, 

Like a giant, old octopus Trust, 
Be quite sure of your cause and your weapons, — 

If you don*t^ it will grind you to dust. 



110 Chips and Whetstones. 



A SUMMER SONG AMID THE HILLS. 



I sat on the wall of a mineral spring. 
The scarlet, old sun sinking low in the west; 

A red-breasted robin with deep brownish wing, 
With voice all melodious in song led the rest 

la the chorus which came from the shadowy hill. 
While the creek murmured on to the creaking, 
old mill. 

There were myriads of birds in that musical 
throng 
Ever vying with others to make themselves 
heard,*' 
And the cows in the mieadow were hurried along 
In response to the call — the old milkman's one 
word — 
And the bell of the shepherd had called his flock 
home. 
And all drank 'neath the dam of the fluttering 
foam. 

The old sun disappeared behind hills in the west,. 
And the birds flew away to their own woodland 
homes, 



Q 

m 




Chips and Whetstones. Ill 

Whilst the sheep and the cows lay contented at 
rest 
Along side of the hills, with their towering 
domes; 
But the mill ground away with a noisy old roll, 
As the mjiller within doubtless took out his toll. 

Ghostly, shadowy figures of vapor arose 
From the water so still fat above the old dam; 

All of Nature around me had sunk to repose — 
E/*en the crystaline water flowed stealthy and 
calm 

O'er the dam by the mill, as it sped like a dream, 
1*0 commingle at length in a mightier stream. 

'Twas a summer of gladness 'mid gladsome old 
hills. 
And of visions forgotten so long, long ago, — 
Of a moon-wrought out marvel the which Nature 
yet fills 
W^ith the glamour, the glow, and the after-while 
glow; 
'Twas a song of the summer so charmed o'er and 
o'er 
Of bright visions profound, that will come never 
more. 



112 Chips and Whetstones. 



AUGUST IN VIRGINIA. 



An August in Virginia! Limp and languid montli, — 
'Tis suited best of all for lounging in the shade; 

The wind, wind-weary, in its flight from farther 
South, 

Expends itself so far, when needed here it's laid; 

With slumbrous silence, space it fills around; 
The hay-cart rolling down the dusty road moves 
slow; 

The locust by the wall stabs quiet with his sound; 
For monologue ennui it rivals all I know. 



Less gaily flit the birds; their songs are not so 
sweet. 
The brook, like rope of silver, winds slowly thro* 
the fleld; 
The meadows, wide and bare, are crying from the 
heat; 
In Sol's bedazzling rays, what mighty power's 
revealed! 
Why don't he douse his glim with wireless speed? 



Chips and Whetstones. IIS 

All vim is wilted; languor lolls along the way; 
And Oh! for voice of water-fall to fill one's need 
By a singing lullaby, or other simple lay. 

We'll seek a quiet nook for a calm resting place, 
Where's music made by frogs, and brooklets sing 
a song; 
To Katydids, cadenzas, crickets run a rapid race. 
And draw their fiddle-bows in unisong along — 
Give concerts with batrachian prelude from the 
reeds. 
The hasso singers holding seats in front by 
right; 
Where basso Bull Frog, ^Old Profundo, always 
leads. 
But the strongest point of all is the lovely sum- 
mer night. 

i 

How sweet the spell beneath the copper-colored 
moon! 
One breaks reluctantly from this enchanting 
scene, 
Tho' roasting from the sun's all scorching heat at 
noon. 
When forced to sit beneath his brilliant, glitter- 
ing sheen. 



114 Chips a^d Whetstones. 

'Tis, too, the month of maize, the rapid growing 
corn. 
So rich with promise, joyful wakes the farmers' 
hearts; 
The scent of pollen now upon the air is borne, 
The hope of harvest rich in every breath it 
starts. 

The grapes are ripening, th^ apples juicy red; 
Bees humming drowsily all laden down with 
sweet. 
Their offspring in their cells are gently put to 
bed, 
For this demand of Nature, surely they must 
meet; 
The goldenrod is gleaming, and water-lilies white, 
Unwittingly they lie on green and stagnant 
ponds; 
Old Nature true asserts herself o'er all, despite 
The blazing heat embracing all within its bonds. 

Thus August — gracious end — how e'er the cynic 

moans ; 
With nothing pleasing him, he journeys here 

below. 
And sitting 'neath the shade lamenting loudly 



Chips and Whetstones. 115 

Tho' lavishly her bounties Nature doth bestow. 
Our God intended all His children should em- 
brace 
On earth its richest gifts, amid its pushing 
throng; ^ 
But time is largely speat at such a rapid pace 
We fail to make life happy rushing thus along. 



116 Chips and Whetstones. 



HOPE. 



O, fondest Hope, when thou art gone, 

What peg is left to which I may cling? 
The world is hurling all men on, 

And yet there's something I may bring 
To keep me in the way of Truth. 

My steps are weary, yet I'm firm 
In my belief that Truth must win; 

As long as the lamp of life may bum 
There's Hope that I shall enter in. 

I shall not weep, nor shall I mourn. 
Still less shall I give up the fight. 

Till Hope eternal shall be borne 
O'er earth and hell and Nature's night, 

For Tinith at last must win. 




Tpce Author at Sixty Years of Age. 



Chips and Whetstones. 117 



MY CREED. 



Precious Savior, Tliou hast led me 

Thus far in life's mystic way; 
Tho', at times, 'twas sad and dreary. 

Lowering clou'ds above me lay; 
Yet withal it's been a pleasure, 

Knowing always Thou wer't near^ 
Oranting blessings without measure, 

Aiding lAe to cast off fear. 

Plan of Grace is simple, gentle. 

Still 'tis hard to understand. 
And I know Thy rod falls heavy 

Lest I yield to Thy commiand 
^'Follow me"; yes, follow ever 

'Long the way Thyself hast trod, 
Knowing Thou'lt forsake me never. 

But will lead me to my God. 

m 

Peter-like, far oft I follow. 
And like him I lose my way; 

So with worship, faint and hollow. 
Lips move only while I pray. 



118 Chips and Whetstones. 

O, my Savior, I beseech Thee! 

Lift me up to higher ground. 
So that I, at all times, may be 

In Thy cause and service found. 

Day by day, kind Savior lead me, 

Let me clasp Thy hand in mine; 
My way is dim, I fail to see it, 

Still I know Thou art divine. 
Canst Thou not my sins forgive me? 

Hear me O, Thou blessed Son! 
Lift Thy voice and I shall hear it. 

Gently lead me farther on. 

Child of grace, though weak and weary,. 

I>aily I shall struggle on. 
May the way be sweet — not dreary. 

Thou hast promised — Thou alone — 
I may reach still higher, higher, 

While the years are rolling on; 
At Thy feet, my fond ambition, 

Till the crown is safely won. 



Chips and Whetstones. 119 



BRAINS. 



"Will you list, my dear reader, to what I shall say? 
I am sure it will help you on life's thorny way: 
What you need most to aid you in droughts and 

in rains, 
Is a stock of gray matter known better as brains. 
Many get on, I know, by loud bragging and bluff 
And these make-believe make-shifts they think are 

enough 
Care of self to propel: but before very long 
The mistake they have made will sing a sad song. 
Education is helpful and learning is great; 
Both are aids in the races and conflicts of fate; 
But clear brains mixed with business is far better 

still 
As equipment for missions important to fill. 
And a character great's the most needful to man; 
It will help him to rise, if arise he e'er can, 
In the conflicts he meets ; but whate'er be his gains 
He's behind at the round-up unless he have brains. 
That old purse lined with gold is most sought for 

by all, 
Tho' its ownership causes many thousands to fall 



120 Chips and Whetstones. 

As they sail o'er the seas in vain quest for more 

"stuff," 
And no matter how much, for 'tis never enough. 
But far better than that is a brain-lined head — 
Best asset of all, till we're rounded up dead. 
Mental grip — mental poise, or f^e power to think; 
It leads oft to the fountain of knowledge to drink. 
Even mortar is better when 'tis mixed well with 

brains ; 
For brains tower above folly as hills above plains; 
As an aid to win battles in life's bitter strife, 
I shall seek this gray substance the rest of my life. 



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